In the Darkness of the Bell Tower
by Calliope - Muse of epic poetry
Summary: Esmeralda loves Phoebus, of course she does. But why then does her mind keep wandering to Frollo?


**Disc****laimer:** I do not own anything from "The Hunchback of Notre Dame" ("Notre Dame de Paris") and I'm certainly not making any money from this story. Everything you might recognise belongs to Victor Hugo (or whoever now is in possession of the rights) and perhaps Disney. (Though as far as I know, the plot is mine.)

**Author's notes:** I've been fascinated by Frollo's character since I first read the novel. He is so much more complex than Disney makes him – he really doesn't want to feel what he does for Esmeralda, he's given his soul to God and can't understand why he'd being punished like this. (Yes, if you haven't realised before I rather have a thing for dark, complex, fictional males.)

Anyway, because of this I tried to find fanfiction that took the rather more sympathetic view that I do and tried to get deeper into his character, but what I ended up with was several stories where he was masturbating as a result of Esmeralda's dance. Though some of them were well written and took time to study his character they made me think. Yes, Esmeralda is a naïve little girl (especially in the book) that loves her "shining night", but I think that she might be drawn to the charismatic priest without wanting to so I tried to write a response to all those stories.

I hope that you're going to enjoy this little one-shot and if inspiration strikes (and anyone's interested) I might write one from Frollo's perspective as well. I would deeply appreciate feedback of any kind since this is my first story with this kind of content. (And yes, the quotation is from Disney's movie.)

**In the Darkness of**** the Bell Tower**

Esmeralda was staring up at the stone roof of the small cell Quasimodo had given her, unable to sleep. She knew she was safe as long as she remained within the cathedral so that was not what was bothering her. And she knew that the bell ringer would protect her from the archdeacon, but yet… Did she want to be protected? She could not stop thinking about what had happened earlier. The way Frollo had claimed her, the way he had caressed her neck and nuzzled her hair. As much as the man made her sick, there was something about him. He carried himself with such grace and authority. And the way he so arrogantly commanded respect with nothing but a look… Thinking about it caused a shiver to go up her spine and she tightened the worn blanket around her small figure.

She hated him. She hated him with all her heart and yet… When she closed her eyes she could feel his hot breath against her neck and she felt her nipples tighten against the fabric of her dress the same way they had when his arm had grazed her breast when he had caught her. The priest was a disgusting, perverted old man and she should not feel anything for him. She didn't even have a name for what she might, possibly – no, most certainly did not – feel. She was supposed to be in love with Phoebus, she _was_ in love with Phoebus. Wasn't she? But what she had felt down in the cathedral, what she now felt at the mere thought of it, was completely unknown to the young gypsy girl.

When he had pressed against her she had felt a tingling in her most intimate place and the gasp she had let out had had much more to do with that than the fear she had felt. The feeling had disgusted her, was still disgusting her, and yet she hadn't been able to stop herself from pressing back against him and what she had felt… She didn't know what to do of it. Of course she had heard some of the other girls talk about it, the girls that didn't gain their money by dancing on the streets, but from another kind of dancing.

Without realizing it, her left hand had travelled under the blanket, under her blouse and was fondling her right breast, caressing one hard peak. Her breath was getting shallower as her mind returned to her previous line of thought.

Something had felt out of place when she pressed against him. His body was thin and cold, but something had pressed against the lower part of her back, something hot and hard that had seemed to respond to her body when she increased the pressure under the pretence of struggling against her captor. Hardly daring to admit it, even to herself as she lay alone in the darkness, she had realised exactly what it had been and she had felt a strange wetness build between her legs as the tingling feeling had increased.

Lying on the small bed, her hand stopped stroking her breasts and started to travel down her flat stomach. She'd never done this before, not even thought about it even though she'd heard the same group of girls discussing it, but the pulsating feeling between her legs was getting very difficult to ignore. She turned her head to the side as if trying to turn away from an imaginary persecutor. She closed her eyes, forcing an image of her shining knight to appear as her fingers tentatively touched the moisture coating her black curls. In an involuntary motion her hips rose to meet her small hand. Oh, that felt… Oh!

She tried to imagine Phoebus touching her as her fingers traced her folds, unconsciously finding the sensitive spot, but suddenly a deep, slightly raspy voice echoed in her head, a voice that sent shivers to her very core.

_I was imagining a noose tied around your beautiful neck._

She moaned, not sure whether it was from disgust or arousal, as two of her fingers slipped inside her. Oh, she hated him. Why wouldn't he leave her be? Unbidden, the image of the archdeacon appeared in front of her. Her fingers picked up their pace as her treacherous mind produced images of him, naked above her as he guided his swollen manhood inside her. Her hips started to move of their own accord. The feeling between her legs was staring to get unbearable and yet she couldn't stop. She hated the priest, she hated herself for what she was doing, for what she was feeling, but, God, it felt so good. Oh, oh… Her hips bucked uncontrollably. She didn't know where the images came from, but she could see his mouth close around one of her hard nipples as he frantically slammed into her. Suddenly she felt herself convulse around her fingers as more moisture leaked out of her. A low scream came from her mouth as her hips rose one final time before she fell panting down on the thin mattress.

As her heart rate slowed, she wiped her hand on the blanket before curling into a small ball, crying into the pillow, hating herself for what she had done, for what the dark priest made her feel.


End file.
